The Virgin Viscountess The Vigilant Viscount
by Solo Ensemble
Summary: A short Regency-era romantic story about Jason and Elizabeth Morgan, the Viscount and Viscountess of Charles Porte.
1. The Virgin Viscountess

**Note – **The second "chapter" is just a continuation of this story from another point of view. All writing remains third-person omniscient, thank you very much. :-P If I ever start writing in present tense or from a first person perspective, I need all of you to throw things at me.

**The Virgin Viscountess**

"Good night, Elizabeth."

"Good night, my lord."

Jason closed his eyes as she disappeared into her bedroom, tempted to bang his head against the wooden threshold. No matter how many times he told her to call her by his given name, she always demurred and used a more formal title. The same one she had used when she first met her husband, his older brother Alan James, the Viscount of Charles Porte. 

Letting out a sigh, he slipped into his bedchambers and walked down the little hall leading to his changing room. As always, she was in his thoughts as he pulled off his riding boots and undid the long row of buttons on his breeches. He thought of her in the Viscountess's bedchambers just next door to his as he whisked his linen shirt off and threw it on top of his rumpled coat. She was just next door, in the very next room at Morgan House, the official seat of the Viscount and his Viscountess.

He had never asked her to move out when he assumed his place as the head of the family. He could never have asked her something like that. Elizabeth Webber, as she was known before she assumed her official title, was from one of the finest families in all of London. Her father was a medical practitioner who had even advised the Prince Regent on matters regarding his health. Her mother was one of the society matrons renowned among the _ton _for her kindness and grace. Her siblings, Lord Steven Webber and Baroness Sarah Spencer, were wildly popular among the other men and women of the _ton_, and all of London had celebrated her arranged engagement to his brother, the noble Viscount Alan James Morgan.

But things did not bode well for the handsome young couple.

Their engagement ball was the talk of the town, and anyone who was anyone in London had been invited. They'd made the front page of the society paper for weeks as more and more details about their engagement party emerged: the elegant evening kit AJ would wear, the imported wine they'd serve, the Rugghieri violins that had been brought in from Italy especially for the orchestra, the color of her exquisite engagement dress that the modiste had accidentally let slip.

And all the while, Jason lurked at the sidelines, doing his best to remain out of the way and not ruin this momentous occasion for his brother. After all, it wasn't Alan's fault that Jason had fallen in love with his intended the night of the Cassidine gala during her first official season in London. But he was a second son, perpetually short on funds and second in line to a title possessed by his extremely healthy and most likely virile brother, and she the daughter of a Lord and Lady. He'd been too afraid to voice his affection for her and approach her father for her hand, and the Webbers and his mother Monica, the dowager Viscountess, had brokered their own match but with AJ as the champion.

She was beautiful that evening, their wedding day. The ceremony was a private affair, attended by just the family. Elizabeth had wanted it that way. She claimed that the engagement ball was enough; they had their obligations to London society and they had fulfilled them by throwing such an elaborate ball. But now it was time to celebrate the union with just their closest, most intimate friends. His brother had praised her level-headedness and modesty and agreed most readily.

The families and friends were assembled in the main room of Morgan House, just downstairs. Elizabeth had been attended by her best friend, Miss Georgiana Jones, and Alan had been attended by his younger brother.

It had been the worst day of Jason's life, but he made it through to the evening. And as the Viscount and his new Viscountess bid their guests goodnight and prepared to depart for their first night as husband and wife, Jason had left through the servants' door, hitched up his black steed, and left London for good.

What he didn't know was that as he was galloping toward the pier to catch the last boat to India on his brother's wedding night, Alan James was suffering a fatal brain aneurysm. He kissed his new bride, began to loosen the buttons on her blue silk gown, winced at his lingering headache, and fainted dead away. There had been nothing the doctors could do.

Three months passed before he got word, and it took him another three months to frantically wrap up his official duties in Bombay and return home. In those short six months, much had changed. His mother, the dowager Viscountess who had purchased a little apartment of her own in London to leave Morgan House for the Viscount and the family he planned to make, was the first to receive him home.

She shared the details of AJ's death and opened her grief anew to join her youngest son – her only remaining son – in his. Alan had been the best sort of brother that Jason could have hoped for, and it broke his heart that his life had ended so prematurely. Equally troubling was the fact that now Jason had no choice but to assume the family title and continue the family line as the Viscount of Charles Porte.

Elizabeth had stayed on at her late husband's home, and she was sitting in the office at Morgan House when Jason returned. It was disconcerting to see her there, a woman in the office of the Viscount, but Jason had already been told by her mother that Elizabeth had been doing an exemplary job managing AJ's estate.

She managed his affairs in Parliament, everything short of physically attending and casting her vote, which she was prohibited to do by law. She managed his properties and kept herself informed on his investments, frequently meeting with his bankers to update his portfolio and cut the dead weight properties that were costing Morgan House more than they were worth. She even toured the properties and visited their tenants, making sure that everything was in order for them and that they were able to make their payments on time. She even kept up AJ's stables, filled with his prize-winning stallions, in tribute to her husband's memory.

She had awkwardly accepted his praise and his gratitude when Jason told her that Morgan House and the Morgan family could not have been in more capable hands than hers, and then she smoothly transferred all the affairs to his charge so that he could assume his rightful duties.

He insisted that she stay at Morgan House rather than move back in with Lord and Lady Webber on Baker Street. He did this partly because it felt right: she was the Viscountess of Charles Porte, even though she was not married to the current Viscount. But also because he couldn't bear the thought of her leaving and having to face the _ton_, who could be as vicious as they were jubilant.

The men of the _ton _were the worst. Elizabeth hadn't yet come out of mourning, so she attended very few society functions and wore all black to the ones she did attend. At her sister's most recent gala, however, Elizabeth had honored the Baroness by wearing a lavender sash and lavender gloves with her black dress.

Even though lavender was still a mourning color, the men of the _ton _had been beside themselves at the thought of the Viscountess being on the Marriage Mart again and had made the night most unbearable for her. Countless men had asked her to dance, although she had not danced in public since her engagement ball. Others tried to lure her out onto the balcony for a few stolen kisses; still others were so moved by her dark blue eyes that they composed (very bad) poetry on the spot in tribute. She had been declared the season's Incomparable and had even outshined the newest debutantes and their overbearing mothers in her black dress and lavender accents.

When it became clear that Elizabeth Morgan did not intend to choose a new husband, the men turned on her as quickly as they had all flocked to her. She was branded a tease, a wanton, the oddest paradox considering that her husband before his untimely passing had not even touched her.

His mother had spared Jason of this news and so he had the unfortunate task of finding out about the turn in public male sentiment at his club. He had been drinking brandy and trying to disappear from his new life behind a newspaper when he heard the men in the other room talking. They were lead by Patrick Drake, the biggest rake and scoundrel in all of London that had somehow managed to win the hand of the lovely Robin Scorpio – and then proceeded to step out on her almost every night and pay a little visit to _La Belle Maison _for some extra attention and company.

That was when Jason learned that the men likened his chaste former-sister-in-law to the Whore of Babylon. Well, not quite, but by the way his blood boiled at their talk, they might as well have. That was also the night that he learned of their not-so-affectionate nickname for her: the Virgin Viscountess.

They'd only gotten the chance to say it once in his presence, for that was when Jason threw his full glass of brandy against the wall and leapt at Patrick. He tackled the insufferable bastard to the floor and pulled punch after punch, similarly taking down Baron Logan Hayes of Baldwin Estate and Earl Cooper Barrett of Holden Hills when they tried to help Patrick out. And once all three men were sufficiently bloody and apologetic, Jason made it clear that _no one_ would ever dare to breath one word against his Viscountess.

And then he had left the club and gone straight home, where Elizabeth broke out of her normally stiff and reserved demeanor and exclaimed in horror when she saw his hands and his face. She had immediately called for his butler Reginald to fetch warm water and washcloths for her. And then she had taken him by the hand, sat him down in her private parlor, coaxed his rumpled coat off his shoulders, and gently cleaned each of his knuckles and the cut on his cheek.

It had taken all of his resolve to remain still under her tender ministrations. He had no idea how he made it til the end without gathering her up in his arms and making her unfortunate nickname perfectly irrelevant and erroneous. But somehow he had, and as he staggered up to his bedroom alone he reflected that it was, of course, for the best. She would never be his Viscountess. No matter how deeply he loved her, he could never insult her love for his brother that way. And he could never insult his brother's memory by stealing his intended, either.

Jason let out a heavy sigh as he passed the door by his antique armoire on his way to his bed. They were in the marital bedrooms of the house, of course. The Viscount's bedroom included a door to the Viscountess's chambers for those late-night visits once the honeymoon was over and they'd moved out of the marital suite in the house. That door was one through which he could never enter, the one door through which he did not dare set foot.

His fingers traced the lock, itching to loosen it, but he forced himself to hold still. What if she heard? There was only a short connecting hall between the door in her bedroom: if she heard him wiggling the lock, what would she think? He'd scare her, he'd mortify her, he'd repulse her, and Jason wasn't about to take that chance.

So he touched his forehead to the heavy slab of wood, his palm flat against it, and closed his eyes, doing his best not to think of the woman that lay innocently sleeping on the other side. There was a first time for everything, after all.


	2. The Vigilant Viscount

**The Vigilant Viscount**

"Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"Goodnight, my lord."

The words were thick on her tongue, as they always were, but she couldn't very well call him by his Christian name. She had denied herself that right. Calling him Jason, as easily as how he called her Elizabeth, was too intimate for two people in their position.

He the feared Viscount of Charles Porte, she his-but-not-his Viscountess. Two people separated by years, at times continents, and always a brother-husband. To call him Jason would have been to imply that they could bridge that gap and move on as Viscount and Viscountess Morgan, and she couldn't deal with that painful hope.

So every night she addressed him as her lord and slipped into her chambers before he could see what really lay hidden under her words. For if there was anything Jason Morgan was, it was vigilant. He knew all of what went on around him, one way or another, and his glacial stare could become so pointed and unnerving that one felt as if he were boring holes through one's very body in search of hidden suspicions and loyalties and secrets.

And if he knew her biggest secret, he wouldn't even want to look at her again.

If he had any idea that she'd fallen in love at her engagement ball, and the man that won her heart was not his brother, he'd never be able to look at her ever again.

It was her secret to bear, a pain grown more intense by her husband's passing and the homecoming of his brother. Her heart had broken and been put together the day he returned to London after his six-month sojourn to India to manage his late father's unfinished affairs there.

Jason Edward Morgan had always looked so much like his brother. Even in adulthood, Jason looked like a younger, slightly more mischievous copy of his good brother. As children they had done everything together; they'd fenced and learned to ride at a gallop and engaged in archery, and bent over their desks at school practicing their flicks. Alan James told her during their first dance together after her debut to society that his younger brother was his best friend, and that anyone who didn't treat Jason well was not a friend of his. It had been a casual conversation between them – typical idle chit-chat debutantes and marriageable men often engaged in – but she could easily see even then how those very words could be turned into a threat and aimed pointedly at an interloper.

For a while after her engagement, that was how she felt. AJ and Jason were very close but she always felt Jason withdraw whenever she entered the room and took her place at his brother's side. Whether he resented her presence, thought she wasn't good enough for his brother, or just wanted to give the affianced couple some time alone was unclear to her, and she had never once worked up the courage to ask.

After all, it wasn't very easy to discuss such intimate, personal matters with the man one was in love with, while one also somehow happened to be engaged to his older brother.

If it had been her choice, she would have picked Jason. Not that Alan wasn't a suitable man: quite to the contrary, he was an exceptional man. And Elizabeth was sure that he would have made an exceptional husband and an exceptional father if he had lived that long. But Jason was something else. Her heart had long since learned to flutter whenever his eyes glittered, and her blood had taken to humming whenever he smiled, smirked, or grinned in his impish, boyish way that set him apart from his noble brother.

That was probably why her parents had been so focused on matching her up with Alan James. The firstborn, he carried in his step the title and future of his entire family. And he was a man well used to his power. Alan wasn't mischievous; he didn't have the time for it. He wasn't reckless; he couldn't afford it. And even though it took a lot to anger him, he wasn't what she'd call easy-going because there was simply too much that rode on his shoulders.

Her parents had always been impressed by him and while they weren't turned off by Jason's younger-brother ways, he wasn't their favorite. They wanted the noble, upright, just Viscount as their daughter's husband and lord, and they had almost gotten their wish.

Both families had been devastated by Alan's death. It wasn't the sort of thing one could get over. Even now, exactly four years later to the night, she carried that memory on her like a wound, still fresh, still raw, and still very much present. Alan's mother, the dowager Viscountess Monica Morgan, had effectively lost all three men in her life. Her husband and oldest son were deceased, and her youngest son was in faraway India. Her parents had lost a beloved son-in-law, and they carried her grief as a young widow as well. She, who was so young, already a dowager like her mother-in-law!

Jason had left the night of his brother's death. Alan had seen him go and murmured it to her as they took the stairs up to their marital suite. She hadn't realized it then, but she did now, and she knew that he had been hurt and confused by his brother's immediate departure. And if he knew that his brother had been on his way to another continent entirely that night…perhaps it was better that he hadn't.

It shamed her to say it, especially since she knew herself to be in love with the man, but it was probably for the best as well that Jason had left her that night. He had been all she could think about during her engagement ball, standing off by the balcony in his handsome black evening kit, carrying on his duties as the younger brother by dancing with the honored society matrons and the tittering debutantes before escorting his mother to the floor. He was the one who managed the entire affair; that would have been his father Alan Morgan's job, but the man had passed on some five years earlier. It was because of Jason that their engagement ball was such a success, despite the fact that she had been terrified all that night.

It was no secret that Jason was a shrewd, assessing man. He had been so as a boy and used his impish ways to cover his perceptive ways, but he was even more so as a man. He made it his business to know everything that went on both on his properties and in London, if it concerned him. That was why she was so ashamed of her records when he came home: they hardly passed muster as they were and she felt as if she had let him down by not adding all the little details she knew he absorbed like a sponge absorbed water.

And that was why she had been so terrified the night of her engagement ball: surely a man as shrewd and keen as Jason Morgan could see right through her and read her hidden secrets and fantastic desires. Surely he knew her to be a wanton, the worst sort of woman, in love with one man but willingly marrying another!

The sad fact was that she never had any way of knowing if Jason returned her feelings. He had never given her any indication. He shied away from her at all the parties before she became engaged to his brother, and when they spoke he barely progressed beyond single syllable answers.

It was so much harder now. Better, in some ways, because he was home, but much harder because her feelings for him hadn't changed. And it was excruciating to sit across from him at the breakfast table while he wolfed down his broiled mackerel, to discuss business affairs in the library, to visit his mother with him, and to attend the society functions on his arm in an honorary gesture when the whole time was spent with her wishing she really were _his _Viscountess.

If he knew how she disrespected the memory of his brother, he'd never want anything to do with her again. Loyalty like that shared between the brothers Morgan was not easily come by, and not easily forgotten.

So she had no choice but to keep on appearances and keep her emotions hidden. He hadn't asked her to leave his home, the Lord bless him, and he hadn't asked her to move out of the Viscountess's chambers. She had tried once but he happened upon her in the hall and quietly ordered her to go back and deposit her things as they were. Several significant things had changed at Morgan House, he informed her, but he was set on making sure others remained the same.

She had no idea what he meant by that but she did what she was told anyway, and that was the last conversation they had about that. She assumed that when he married and brought the real Viscountess of Charles Porte home to the marital suite he would enjoy with her, Jason would ask her to move to Webber House, or another wing of the house if he were feeling particularly generous.

Finished disrobing now – she had the most annoying habit of always thinking of Jason while she undressed; it was quite licentious of her, she knew it – Elizabeth slipped on a crimson nightgown and pulled her robe over her shoulders.

Her candle still had plenty of wax left and she ought to write down the day's affairs in her journal. It wasn't one of those wishy-dreamy journals like the one her sister Sarah kept in her girlhood; this was a journal filled mainly with important, official information. Jason had decided to leave a few of his affairs to her care since she had been managing them in his absence, and experience had proved that a person record of her daily conversations with the bank managers and investors was an invaluable tool.

Elizabeth headed for her massive four-poster bed, candle in hand, and bunched her skirts in her hand to avoid tripping on the long hem. She set the candle down on her night table and turned toward the bed, unable to keep her gaze from the large windows that looked out over the sprawling properties of Morgan House.

A storm was creeping in, and the candle cast eerie shadows on her wall. Elizabeth shivered and tried not to notice, tried to forget, but the memories came back unbidden anyway. The candles he had set out on the nightstands, her silk dress the color of the tranquil English sky, the large four-poster bed in the marital suite, the approaching storm and the thunder…the lightning, the horrible thunder, railing against the house, the darkness, the crashing…the lightning strike that revealed it was her husband who had crashed to the floor like the mighty oak outside the window…

The thunder broke again and a sharp crack shook the house, and Elizabeth couldn't help it. She screamed. She screamed and she whirled around and raced out of her bedchambers, as far away from those dreaded windows and that damn storm as she could possibly get…

Until she ran into something hard and warm that barred her path and put an end to her escape.

Two hands gripped her arms fiercely despite her wild thrashing, and then Elizabeth felt herself being shaken almost to the point of being throttled.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth, stop!"

The urgent voice was so familiar that she could have sworn her heart recognized it and skipped a beat in joy. She opened her eyes just a crack and was rewarded with his stern visage, handsome even in his concern. "Jason?"

His name was barely above a breath, but he heard it anyway and his expression softened. "What happened? What are you doing out here?"

She felt herself go weak in his hold, and Elizabeth barely realized that he was dressed in his nightclothes. "I…I…"

His grip relaxed only slightly as he brought her a little closer. "Elizabeth?"

Those silver-blue eyes she had once composed (very bad) poetry about probed hers urgently as Jason reached out and gently lifted her chin so that she'd look at him. The contact was electric and infused her with warmth and the absurd urge to burst into tears.

So that was exactly what she did.

Jason swore – a dirty, four-letter-word she was positive he would never utter in front of a lady in his right mind – and abruptly yanked her forward as Elizabeth sobbed. She crashed against his chest and held on for dear life, her words lost between her sobs and his thin cotton night shirt.

"Th-The candle and the shadows – on the wall, and – there was a storm – and the thunder a-and-"

His arms were wrapped so tightly around her that Elizabeth could barely breathe, not that she wanted to. As awful as it sounded, she just wanted to close herself off to everything, to the pain, to the fear, to love and to air and just disappear in the darkness within his embrace.

"It's storming out," he agreed quietly, one of his large hands awkwardly stroking her hair as if he didn't quite know what else to do in the presence of a hysterical woman. "This is England, after all. But it will be over soon."

"It's not that," she shuddered, not pausing to think that her tears were ruining his shirt. If she had, she would have pulled away almost immediately. Almost. "It's storming and there was lighting and it struck a tree and – and – and there was a crash, and…"

Her knees went weak and Elizabeth turned her face into the warmth of her chest as Jason stooped slightly to keep her upright. Her voice when she spoke again was thick with pain and the bitterness of remembrance.

"It was storming like that the night Alan died."

He went so deathly still against her that Elizabeth wondered just for one moment if _she _would be the one to have to keep _him _upright. And then he spoke, sounding so hollow and so like a ghost himself that it made her want to cry anew.

"Four years ago. Four years ago tonight."

"Yes," she whispered brokenly. "Yes."

Instead of letting her go and pushing her away like she was rather beginning to think he would, Jason lowered his head until his temple was pressed against her cheek, his nose almost touching the straps of her thin nightgown on her shoulder as he tightened their embrace.

She clung to him, knowing he needed her as much as she needed him. Four years didn't lessen his love for his brother; anyone who expected that of him was a fool. When Jason Morgan loved he loved deeply, and his brother had always been first in his esteem.

They stood like that for a long moment. She had no idea how long; time had ceased to matter. All she felt was the beat of his heart against hers, the tick of his pulse under her fingertips. Finally, Jason shifted. He straightened slightly, loosened his hold on her slightly, and turned his face just enough so their noses bumped.

Elizabeth stilled, scarcely daring to breathe. She kept her hand where it was, gently settled on the sensitive skin of his neck, and felt his body slowly grow hot. She eased herself down from her toes, causing their lips to brush in a feather-light caress, and the stiff, formal relationship she had worked so hard to construct and maintain with him was lost.

That almost-kiss unleashed the daredevil she knew still lurked in Jason Morgan despite his role as the head of the family, the maker of their legacy. Somehow, that kiss had been his undoing. It had certainly been hers.

Jason's hands smoothed down to her back, gripping her, squeezing her, kneading her, pulling her up flush against his chest as he pressed his lips to hers once more. She accepted his overture readily, even rising up on her toes once again to meet him better.

He kissed her fiercely, desperately, as if maybe he thought she'd disappear. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and tentatively stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, unsure as to how precisely to reassure him she would very much remain with him.

Despite her resolve, Elizabeth was altogether unprepared for his intrusion when Jason traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and abruptly slipped it into her mouth. She gasped sharply, then realized she wasn't the only one to have done so.

It was almost comical, what happened next. Both she and Jason broke free of the kiss and turned around to find one of the servants. He was carrying a stack of folded linens in his hand, obviously for the closet a way down the hall, and had seen them frantically clutching each other in the darkness. The man stared at them with wide eyes and he must have seen Jason's ferocious glare because he whirled around and disappeared around the corner.

Elizabeth blushed as she felt Jason's hand slip over the silk of her nightgown. It had been horrible to be caught like that – especially since it was the first time such a thing had happened – but she had a feeling it wasn't the end of the world. The servants were very loyal and loved her dearly, and she knew they could be discreet.

Still…

It was horrible to have been caught like that.

Jason apparently thought so, too, because the arms he had wrapped around her now pushed her back, away. "We can't do this."

"I-"

He touched his forehead to hers, as if privately anguished by something, then shook his head and pulled away, but not before placing a finger on her bee-stung lips to silence her. "We can't. No matter how much I want-"

He shook his head again and took a full step back from her. And then the Viscount appeared unsure as to what to do. His piercing eyes kept darting to his bedroom and then to her, almost as if he actually _wanted _to-

"I will escort you back to your bedroom." He stuck out his hand, waiting for her to offer her elbow. When Elizabeth stared stupidly at him, Jason snarled and took her arm, marching her down her hallway. He stopped at her door and looked down at her as if he wanted to say something, and if Elizabeth wasn't imagining it, she could have sworn that his gaze dropped to her lips before Jason grumbled something incoherent and stalked back to his bedroom.

Elizabeth watched him go, biting her lip as she took in the way the muscles of his back rolled and rippled under the thin material of his shirt. And then he slammed his door so hard that it made her jump and whirl around into the safety of her own room. She shut the door securely behind herself and leaned against it, her mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened.

He had kissed her.

His kiss might have been driven by grief at the memory of his brother's death, but the way he had held her, like the fires of hell were licking at his feet and she was the only thing keeping him safely anchored…

She wasn't a woman with much experience, but even she had to think that a man didn't just kiss a woman like that for no reason. Jason had kissed her like she _mattered_. He had set her soul on fire, to be sure, but his kiss had also comforted her, calmed her, made her feel safe and protected in his strong, fierce embrace, as if he was daring anyone and anything to come after her so long as she was his.

And God help her, she wanted to be his.

Elizabeth stood by her door and stared at the other door in her bedroom, the one leading to the Viscount's private bedchambers. How often had she leaned against that door, sat next to it, wept against it? How many times had she wished that the Viscount would appear from behind it and sweep her up, make her feel safe and calm and needed and loved after she had had all of those things stolen from her on her wedding night? How many times had she just wished for _Jason_?

No more.

Biting her lip, Elizabeth pushed herself away from the wall and flung herself at the door. It took her trembling fingers a minute to undo the lock, and then she threw it open and hurled herself into the hallway. She ran the short distance and almost fell against the door on his end. She tested it and found it locked, just like she kept hers.

Not letting that deter her from the one thing she wanted more than anything, the one thing she'd finally worked up the courage to _take _for herself, Elizabeth pounded on the door with her fists. She didn't care if that made her a wanton: what did such meaningless labels mean if they could fix this, if they could get past everything, if they could do this?

She pounded again and was rewarded by the scrape of the ball in the chain. It must have stuck from the lack of use and she could hear Jason struggle it, jerking furiously at the knob until he succeeded in almost pulling the door from its rusty hinges.

And then they stared at each other.

"…Jason."

He blinked and the corner of his mouth twitched just so. "You were expecting someone else, perhaps?"

Even in his frustration, even in his grief, even in his shock, he could still put her at ease and make her smile.

"I was hoping for you," Elizabeth admitted softly, wringing her hands together as she always did when she was nervous. It wasn't so much that Jason made her nervous as they stood there, just a man and a woman in a secret hallway; it was the thought of being on the cusp of attaining her heart's wildest desires that petrified her to her core.

Jason seemed to suddenly remember himself and, ever the gentleman, held out his hand to help her out of the dark passage. She accepted it, relishing the feel of his rough hand closed around her soft one, and stepped out into his bedchambers.

She had never had occasion to be in the Viscount's chambers before. She and Alan had been about to spend their first night together in the marital suite in a separate wing of the house and after his passing, she could never bring herself to step into his bedroom. She never had any reason to, after all. AJ never brought his business affairs into the bedroom, so everything that she needed to manage his estate could be found in his office.

It was a large chamber, just a little larger than hers, richly decorated in shades of burgundy and gold, and it suited Jason perfectly. She couldn't rather imagine Alan here, but Jason looked right at home in the simple furnishings and muted color schemes.

"Elizabeth, I-"

"Jason, you-"

They both stopped, instantly embarrassed. Finally, Jason cleared his throat and looked away. "You shouldn't be here."

Elizabeth accepted the point-blank statement perfectly in stride. "And yet, here I am."

His eyes glowed somberly as they flicked back to hers. "Yes, here you are."

Her hand was still in his and Jason appeared to just notice this. Hesitantly, he reached for her other one so that they stood together, loosely clasping each other. Elizabeth let him play with her fingers, fascinated by how his larger hands matched up with her tiny ones, still managing to fit perfectly despite the disparity in size.

"So much has changed."

Jason looked at her, then averted his gaze again. "Not as much as you think."

His answer troubled her, and Elizabeth frowned. "What do you mean? Jason, we-"

"I know," he replied quickly, with just a touch of irritation. "Believe me, Elizabeth, I know."

"But you said-"

He silenced her by giving her hands a little squeeze, a surprisingly intimate gesture that had her snapping her mouth shut. "Regarding my feelings for you, Elizabeth, not much has changed at all."

Her eyes widened, then began to glisten. "Oh," she finally got out. "Oh, yes, I understand. Of course."

Jason swore when she tried to tug her hands free from his. "No, it's clear to me that you don't understand."

He yanked on her hands when she made one last feeble attempt to pull away, bringing her crashing against him. Elizabeth yelped in surprise, then blushed when his warmth seeped through her silk nightgown.

"So many things have changed over the years, Elizabeth," he murmured, his expression soft as he briefly let his forehead rest against her. "But my feelings for you from the first time I saw you at Nikolas's ball are not among them."

Her lips parted, first from surprise and then eagerness, and Jason flicked the lower one with his fingertip. "You came here tonight for a reason, Elizabeth. Tell me?"

Confusion swirled in the sapphire eyes that had once inspired him to write (very bad) poetry that had thankfully never left the page in his mind. "Here?"

His lips twitched. "My bedchambers."

"Oh! Here!" she yelped, going from looking adorably befuddled to adorably startled. "Yes, here."

Jason stifled a chuckle. "Yes, here."

He let out a slow breath, more to calm himself than anything else, and met her gaze directly. "Tell me."

"Jason, I…" Elizabeth bit her lip and closed her eyes when his hand moved in a slow circle at the small of her back. "I…"

By God, as sure as he was standing there, she was driving him crazy. Pulling her against him had been a bad idea, a truly wicked idea, but it was the only thing he could think to do when she so drastically misunderstood him. With her pressed up against him in all the right places, Jason's body was beginning to react in all the right ways, but entirely without his consent. 

"Elizabeth," he gasped, barely able to believe the sensations she stirred in him _just by standing with him_.

"I want always to be with you," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "All the time. I loved your brother for the sort of man he was, Jason, but I couldn't quite love him for precisely the man he was. That was you. For the longest time, I've wanted always to be with you."

He answered with a low growl of need, and the next thing Elizabeth knew, Jason had kicked the door to the secret passage shut, brought her wrists over her head, and pinned her there. Not experienced enough to know that he was aroused and ready to do something about it, Elizabeth struggled against his hold, starting to think that saying that had been a very bad idea indeed. And then she managed to catch his eyes as he held her back, struggling against the door.

And she forgot what it was that she was so apprehensive about.

Those eyes that she had stared into and dreamt of truly were the windows to his soul. She could read his excitement, his frustration, but most importantly, his hope. He knew exactly what she was saying without her having to elaborate. And he felt the same way.

Her relief and exhilaration were so great that Elizabeth barely felt it when his grip on her wrists tightened. But Jason was still very much focused on the task at hand and explicating certain details.

"I never took one thing from my brother," he told her softly. "Never one thing – not so much as a peppermint when we were children. It truly wasn't my intention to ever take you, either."

"I know," she got out somehow. "It was never my intention to want you, either."

He wisely chose not to take that as an insult. "Alan told me something when we were young, something that I never quite understood before but that I'm starting to understand now. He said that we cannot choose who we fall in love with."

Elizabeth's breath hitched in her throat, her mind catching hold of that word and clinging to it for all it was worth.

"If we do this," he murmured, his voice low and hard, "we're going to do it correctly. We're going to do it all. And that means there _will _be some changes made."

Elizabeth blinked. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

He leaned down and nipped at her ear, smirking as she shuddered. "I won't stand for occasional trips through the passage, Elizabeth."

She blushed at that, but Jason wasn't done tormenting her. His hot breath fanned out across the shell of her ear before he started nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck.

"If you will share my bed regularly, you will do so as the Viscountess of Charles Porte."

Her lips parted. "But I _am _the Viscountess of-"

Jason silenced her with a finger on her lips and acknowledged her reply with a quick nod. "You will do it as _my _Viscountess of Charles Porte."

"Your Viscountess," she agreed breathlessly, just seconds before his lips claimed hers. "Yours."

**The End.**


End file.
